


wanna kiss your silhouette

by lovelyspiral



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Day 1, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, pliroyweek, pliroyweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspiral/pseuds/lovelyspiral
Summary: Neither of them had won gold that day, but Yuri  found loss instead, acutely resting  in the curve of JJ’s upper lip.





	

Birthdays, to Yuri, are red, cold-kissed cheeks and skates gliding across the ice. It’s baking with his grandfather, limbs sore and tired of standing but pushing on to be with Kolya, and falling asleep to the soft droning of television.  In the morning, Kolya would drive him back for practice. When he’d been younger, he’d always peppered Kolya with,  _  Is Mama coming? Is Vanya coming?  _

 

_ No, Yura,  _ was always the unspoken answer, conveyed in the way his grandfather would squeeze him tightly.  _  But I’m here.  _

 

Today, hours  away from becoming twenty years old, Yuri sits at Kolya’s bedside. His grandfather has fallen asleep early, mumbling apologies about wanting to stay up until midnight even as Yuri had led him to the bedroom. They’d been up long enough for Yuri, had shared a companionable silence watching TV, blankets in their laps and Kolya’s cats curling around their legs. Yuri had rested his head on Kolya’s shoulder and closed his eyes, known peace. 

 

“Yura,” Kolya had murmured.  “Do you feel any older?” 

 

“Not yet,” Yuri’d replied. “Mila’s excited though.”

 

“You grew up well before twenty,” Kolya had run his calloused fingers slowly, carefully  through Yuri’s hair. “But there are things you’ve had to learn.” 

 

“Thanks to you,” Yuri’d said softly. Whenever Yakov would call up Kolya to inform him of Yuri’s tantrums, Kolya would drive over, take one look at his grandson’s sulking face, and let Yuri stew in the car  until he was ready to talk. On hot days, they’d get ice cream. On the colder days, they’d go to a coffee shop. Always, Kolya had radiated a quiet pride, and that’s how he fell asleep, stroking his grandson's hair until Yuri woke up him up, fretting about his back.

 

Now, settled next to his sleeping grandfather, Yuri scrolls through Instagram, pausing when he comes to Viktor’s latest update.  It’s Yuuri -- it’s always Yuuri -- and Makkachin, splashing through Hasetsu’s sea. Knowing them, they’d call tomorrow, laughing and shoving to fill the small space of the phone’s screen, unable to be heard over Makkachin’s excited barking. 

 

But that’s how they always are. His mother and Vanya would call too, fill him in about their latest projects. Vanya is somewhere in South America right now, and his mother is in Paris compiling a photo book. 

 

His stomach twists. 

 

“I wanna go on a trip too,” Yuri tells Alisa, who’s just poked her nose in through the door. Kolya’s had her for as long as Yuri can remember, but she’s never been a friendly cat, never gotten used to Yuri. She blinks at him before baring her teeth in a yawn. 

 

“C’mere,” Yuri says, but she goes to Kolya’s side of the bed, leaping up nimbly and settling next to his chest. Yuri rolls his eyes and slips out from other the covers, trudges to the kitchen. There’s a cake in the fridge, waiting to be unveiled. A faint smile comes to Yuri’s face as he remembers the year he’d wanted candles put on pirozhki: he’d been maybe eight or nine. He steps around the second cat, Misha, absently stooping to scratch his head  before he heads for his laptop resting on the table. 

 

His eyes flicker to the closed door of Kolya’s room as he opens his laptop. His grandfather was a deep sleeper, but even if he awoke, Yuri could probably say he was talking to Otabek. 

 

With a sigh, he boots up his computer. Waits. Knows better, now, than to fight the anticipation beginning to sing through his veins. 

 

Yuri’s not really sure that anyone, Beka aside, would believe that he’s been talking to Jean-Jacques Leroy for the better half of the year. His grandfather, if he ever found out, wouldn’t say anything directly  -- not after years and years of Yuri pushing himself to spill as a skeleton on ice -- but Yuri doesn’t want to imagine how he’s feel. 

 

_ JJ,  _ Yuri wants to say,  _ is everything you’ve wanted for me.  _

 

The only one who knows so far is Beka, but Mila and Georgi are catching on that there’s  _ someone.  _ There’s been plenty of cases where his phone’s nearly cracked open as it bounces from Mila and Georgi’s hands in a frantic game to keep Yuri away while they ‘investigated.’ 

 

Right now, Yuri doesn’t want to think about what JJ is to him besides someone that he wants to talk to on his birthday. What he is to JJ -- he doesn’t want to think about that either.  Knuckles against his chin, ring cold against his skin, he calls JJ. 

 

No answer. He sends off a text and waits, scrolls through some manga that Yuuri had recommended. At eleven o’clock, he impatiently spams JJ’s Skype with pouting emoticons and ugly selfies, snorting to himself as he remembers their first call together. JJ’d been so nervous he’d waited for Yuri an hour early. There’d been considerable gaps of silence on Yuri’s side as JJ blustered his way through the Skype,  but it’d ended in laughter, the promise of more, and the birth of a now-familiar ache.  Yuri can’t even remember what they’d begun talking about, but honestly, it was probably cats or skating. Most likely cats. 

 

Misha meows, and when Yuri moves his hand from his face to reach down and stroke him, his fingers brush the smile that somehow,  _ somehow, _ JJ manages to put on his face. 

 

_ Even when I’m away, I’ll be in your heart, right, chaton?  _

 

Idiot. 

 

To Yuri,  learning about JJ is  like learning an annoyingly dynamic  routine, one he can  _ just _ keep up with, the tease of the challenge pushing him to unearth every complexity. It’s fun and it’s frustrating, and it’s probably why their calls haven’t felt the same anymore. 

 

They lack the ways JJ’s mouth could slot against his, how his hand would feel in Yuri’s, how the moles  scattered on his shoulder and neck would look unfiltered by a computer screen. 

 

They’d kissed, once. So fleeting and messy in a locker room that Yuri could barely remember it. Neither of them had won gold that day, but Yuri  found loss instead, acutely resting  in the curve of JJ’s upper lip. 

 

“I’d say I hope that made you feel better,” JJ’d mumbled, red painted high on his cheekbones, “but that’s pretentious, right?” 

 

“You’re learning,” Yuri’d breathed, bent JJ over a bench until they’d nearly toppled to the ground. Yuri’s hands had been cold, and so had JJ’s, and yet they held each other for as long as they could. 

 

That was so long ago, and yet, all Yuri wants -- almost as badly as the taste of gold, of peace -- is to have JJ between his teeth again. 

 

The cheerful jingle of a Skype call suddenly fills the apartment, and Yuri jerks, accepts, and then there’s JJ, JJ with his  wet hair rumpled and curling against his scalp, with a yawn on his lips that’re still trying to smile. 

 

“I took a nap,” JJ explains, “in the shower. Hi, babe.” 

 

“Gross,” Yuri says, fumbles to connect his headphones to his laptop. “Hi.” 

 

“Hi,” JJ repeats, voice teasing. “Ready for the big day?” 

 

“It’s just gonna be another day,” Yuri says, resting his cheek on his palm once more. JJ, grin slowly spreading, peers closer, blue-gray eyes filling up the screen. With the cloudy weather lately, he feels just a bit closer to JJ, but it’s something he’ll never confess. Seeing parts of someone everywhere is probably common, he rationalizes, when you wake and sleep to their messages, but it’s not any less embarrassing. Even with all of JJ’s loud antics,  he’s someone Yuri wants to keep privately, his own patch of Moscow sky. 

 

And maybe JJ feels something like that too, but saying anything more will spill their peace over into the ocean, sweep it away.  

 

“You got the ring I mailed you?” JJ asks. “It looks good.” 

 

“Yeah.” Yuri flexes his hand. The thin crown around his finger glints gold, presses engraved, quiet words into his skin. “And, um, you’re welcome, I guess.” 

 

“For what?” JJ blinks, pushes his bangs out his eyes. Yuri’s eyes trace the movement; his hands long to join. Raising his arms while skating earns him points, cheers -- here, Yuri wills  them to stay down, to preserve their dignity and stay away from the screen, from circling sharp cheekbones and stubble. 

 

Yuri mumbles, “Your card.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your card,” Yuri says, red and irritated, and JJ grins. 

 

“I meant every word I said,  Yuri.” JJ poses, J’s in the air, body shaking with laughter, before he suddenly becomes serious. “I mean, I always do. I know I have to prove some things to you, but I will, okay? I didn’t scare you, right?” 

 

“You don’t scare me,” Yuri says, hand against his lips, ring on his teeth. “I’m the one who’ll get gold next time.” 

 

“Not what I meant,  _ chaton, _ ” JJ says, “but I guess that’s an answer, right? Do you have our tally down?” JJ smirks as if either one of them ever would’ve forgotten. As of now, they’re tied, and even with this  _ thing  _ budding and blooming between them, it pisses Yuri off. JJ keeps climbing higher and higher, extends his hand to Yuri as he goes. 

 

_ How do you have time to look back at me? Why aren’t I by your side yet?  _

 

“I already fell once, Yuri, so you can’t really compare our, ah, trajectories? With my current inspiration, I can’t lose,” JJ’d said during one of their calls. Yuri’d threatened to fly over, kick his ass, but JJ’d just laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “You’re, like, my rival. So when I’m choreographing, I want you to see it and know it means something.” 

 

“What means something?” Yuri’d said, heart jammed in his throat and hands twisting in his lap. “What are you skating about?” 

 

He’d known, already. JJ’s never been one for subtlety -- lately his lyrics, his dances, his costumes had all been heavy-handed, all pointing towards the world’s oldest, most beloved trope. A four-letter word Yuri dares not to say, to think, only allowed himself to think in the parameters of his mother and father, of Viktor and Yuri, and inevitably, what happened when JJ and Isabella split, amicably enough, but still unable to spare themselves pain. 

 

“Eh, I’ll let you figure it out,” JJ’d replied, winked, and Yuri’d once more offered to fly to Canada and triple Salchow JJ’s knees. 

 

After breaking Viktor’s record, after winning gold at fifteen, battling JJ, Viktor, Yuuri again and again -- how many parts of himself were left for the ice? A genius debut at fifteen -- a health scare with Kolya at seventeen -- falling and falling and clawing and clawing -- what else can he skate about? 

 

_ Yuri, for as long as I can, I want to climb that podium with you.  _

 

How long would that be? 

 

“Yuri?” JJ says. “You got that look on your face. Talk to me.” 

 

“I am,” Yuri says, sighs at JJ’s frown. “I feel like Viktor did, which is like, super shitty, and no, before you ask, I’m not gonna fucking talk to him. I don’t know what to do next.” 

 

“You obviously fly to a new country to be a coach,” JJ says, “then enter pair-skating, and hey, I’m volunteering right now to be that guy for you. I know it’ll be a sacrifice on my part--” 

 

“On your part?” Yuri snorts. “Get your head out of your ass.”

 

“Wow, is that how flexible you think I am?” JJ beams. “That’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me, Yuri!” 

 

“Shut up, JJ, it is _ not _ .” Yuri looks down as  Misha rubs against his legs. “Hey, little guy, say hi to the world’s biggest idiot.” 

 

“Yuri, don’t be so mean to yourself -- ahh, wow, he’s so beautiful!” JJ gasps. “The best cat. Hi! Can you make him wave?” 

 

Yuri guides Misha’s paw back and forth, and JJ practically melts. 

 

“Misha’s the nice one,” Yuri informs him. “Alisa is old and grumpy.” 

 

“So she reminds you of yourself?” 

 

“Shut up,” Yuri groans, but a burst of laughter still comes through. Silence lingers when he calms; in the yawning quiet, Yuri can hear Kolya’s distant snoring, can imagine what it would be like to fall asleep next to JJ.  They haven’t had a chance to compete together since their ‘origin story,’ as JJ calls it. The closest thing Yuri has is the jacket that JJ mailed him, doused in some expensive cologne. Yuri’d complained that it’d smelled like absolute ass. 

 

The jacket is light, while JJ would be heavy -- perfumed, while JJ would have ice and sweat clinging to him -- in Russia, while JJ is away, away, away. 

 

“Hey, JJ,” Yuri says, “let’s plan a trip.”

 

He thinks of beaches, of a bed shared. Of the trips he’d taken with Viktor and Yuuri, their hands clasped and his tight around his phone. 

 

What would a trip with JJ be like? 

 

“Where?” JJ says instantly, clicks open a new window. “I’ll check tickets. We both get a break in a couple months, don’t we? Wanna go after our comp? It can be like a reward!” 

 

“Yeah,” Yuri says, presses a hand over his smile. JJ winks at him, and god, they’re gross, staring at each other like this. JJ’s hair is drying, now; Yuri wants to reach through the screen and stroke the hair flat, curl his fingers at the nape of JJ’s neck. 

 

“You wanna go a lot of places for a bit, or one place for a long time?”  JJ says, chews his lip as he scrolls. “I think a lot of people are going to Italy recently. Super expensive stuff.” 

 

“One place for a long time,” Yuri says. “Otherwise it’d be normal.” 

 

“But those were the breeding grounds of our legendary story,” JJ protests, teeth poking through his slight smile. “JJ and Yuri.” 

 

“Ew,” Yuri laughs. “You’re so stupid.” 

 

“Stupid for you.”

 

“Stupid in general,” Yuri chides. “My name would be first.” 

 

“Yuri and JJ?” JJ’s brow furrows. “Nope, sorry, JJ and Yuri sounds way better. Has that ring to it.” 

 

“I hear nothing,” Yuri says. JJ sticks his tongue out. Yuri bares his teeth. JJ’s features soften anyway, and he’s all slanting eyes and raised lips and red-tipped nose, everything pointing towards Yuri. 

 

“I’ve missed you,  _ chaton, _ ” JJ says. “Is it your birthday yet?” 

 

Yuri glances at the clock. “Not yet.”

 

JJ hums, clicks away. “What kind of place are you thinkin’ of?” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“For the trip?” 

 

“Somewhere really far away,” Yuri says, “and quiet. With awesome fashion.” 

 

“One day, I’ll design a clothing line just for you,” JJ says, “and we can debut it at Fashion Week, and go to Paris.” 

 

His mother’s photobook, Yuri’s sure, is based on florals. He pulls his lip between his teeth, and asks, “All animal print?” 

 

“All animal print,” JJ promises. “You can design it with me. Be my model!” 

 

“Where do you get all this inspiration from,” Yuri grumbles. “I feel stuck. Like a butterfly pinned to a wall or something. Not really going up or down, does that make sense? Is that stupid?” 

 

Growing up, he’d wanted to be Viktor -- to be in his place and surpass it. Once he’d gotten there, it was like being pressed against a ceiling, pounding against it to break it and break it before JJ could. Somehow, JJ’s recent performances seemed to be making bigger cracks than Yuri’s, and jealousy was a dull wound in his chest, bandaged by the knowledge of what -- of who -- JJ was skating for. 

 

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” JJ quotes. “Well, a lot’s been going on for you. Aren’t you basically your own coach now?” 

 

“Yeah, Yakov’s taking some time off.” Yuri taps at his computer screen absently, pressing an array of dots over JJ’s head to form a little crown. “It’s fucking rough.” 

 

“You could be like Viktor and Yuuri,” JJ snickers, “and just. Choreo a marriage but  like, to  yourself. Reclaim Yuri Plisetsky.” 

 

“Nobody else is worthy,”  Yuri exhales a short laugh. “Not a bad idea, for once.” 

 

Reclaiming himself -- skating for himself -- not for his family, not for JJ, not for Viktor, not for judges or Yuri’s Angels --

 

“I just want to win,” Yuri says. “I want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” 

 

“I can add some songs to our playlist that might inspire you,” JJ suggests. “And maybe the trip can help, yeah?” 

 

“It’s going to be some weird innuendo, isn’t it,” Yuri says dryly. “I’m not skating to Pony.” 

 

“No, never,” JJ draws out his words innocently, smirk betraying his tone. “Seriously, I’ll try and find some nice stuff for you.” 

 

“Okay,” Yuri says. “Don’t disappoint me.”

 

“What’s that? You’re welcome, love you too,” JJ teases, then yelps. “Yuri! Is it your birthday?” 

 

There it is, that word, the name to it all, and Yuri breathes, averts his eyes and looks at the bottom of his screen, at the small numbers declaring that  it’s twelve a.m. March first -- his birthday. 

 

He doesn’t feel any older, any different. If anything, melancholy settles somewhere comfortably inside of him. Kolya, Yakov, Lilia, Viktor, Yuuri --  _ where are we all headed?  _

 

_ On that path, where’s JJ?  _

 

“Yeah,” Yuri says, covers his face with his hands. He inhales, exhales, thinks of days where he stuck candles in pirozhki and Ivan visited more often. His phone’s buzzing -- it’s either Vanya or Beka., definitely, but he lets it go on, focus on the sound of his breathing. 

 

“Fuck,” Yuri mumbles. 

 

“Are you happy?  _ Chaton? _ ” JJ says. “Yuri? Baby?” 

 

“JJ,” Yuri runs his hands down his face, looks back up. “Let’s go somewhere soon.” 

 

“A trip for my queen’s birthday,” JJ says. “Of course. Are you doing anything special today?”  

 

“I don’t know yet,” Yuri says. “Probably something with Grandpa. Maybe get the piercing I was talking about.” 

 

“I’m very invested in that idea, and highly recommend it,” JJ says with wide-eyed glee. “Tongue piercings are so cool. Hey, go get a tattoo too. Get my name!” 

 

“You’re douchey enough for the both of us.” 

 

“Okay, no, that’s you, and you know it.” JJ laughs so hard Yuri thinks he might be tearing up. “I’m the nice one. I’ll try and choreograph something for you later today.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Yuri says. “I’m your rival.” 

 

“I want to!” JJ protests, and Yuri laughs, lets himself touch the screen at last. With a smile, JJ’s hand comes up to match his, and Yuri laughs again at  _ how utterly embarrassing  _ it all is, but he’s happy, he’s happy, and finds that he doesn’t mind thinking about the rink waiting for him tomorrow. 

 

He yawns, and JJ immediately says, “Go rest! Have fun tomorrow, and I’ll have a video for you when you get back.”  

 

“I’ll just make fun of it, but go for it. Good night,” Yuri yawns, blows a kiss at the screen. “I hope your day’s only a little shitty.” 

 

JJ’s pixelated hand catches it, and even 7000 kilometers away, even on a screen, JJ’s smile is just as bright as ever. 

  
“Happy birthday, Yuri.” 

**Author's Note:**

> ivan/vanya, yuri's older brother belongs to the lovely sidra -- title is from "palace" by hayley kiyoko -- happy pliroy week, loves, hope you enjoy <3


End file.
